Premeditated Consequences
by Scarabbug
Summary: Absolute power corrupts absolutely, and mothers shall try to change the fate their children have laid out for them. These things never quite go according to plan. Features OC.


Written from the challenge: "Spawn or other blood relative of any canon character, and the Lightning Lance."

**Disclaimer**: Ace Lightning and all related characters are most certainly not my property and this story was written within the intention of gaining profit or creating such allusions.

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"_Absolute power, corrupts absolutely."_ – Lord Acton. 

Premeditated Consequences.

'Ain't as easy as you expected, is it, m'lady?'

Easy? No. She never thought it would be that. She was always the resilient sort, but she was not unbreakable.

'It's only to be expected.' She leans back in her chair. Her pose is supposed to appear complacent, but her shoulders are tense. 'It's strange, yes, but there's no cause for alarm. The DuLacs are a family of thick skin. As you should well know.'

The castle provides for every need and whim these days, magically and without the occupants having to lift a finger. The room around them is all stone walls and rugs; the furniture is gauchely ornate, right down to the marble goblets, which rise up from the desk at someone's–perhaps the demon's– silent command. She called this castle home, once, but it had never been like this. It's slothful, she thinks, that a person isn't even expected to fetch their own wine. Or at least send someone else for it. And not especially pleasant wine, at that.

Yes. The DuLacs are a thick-skinned lineage, she thinks, wrinkling her nose at the smell coming from the glass in her hand. Perhaps, Hugo is the exception.

It's as if the demon reads her mind. Perhaps it can. 'Oh, I wouldn't say that, your ladyship. No, I wouldn't say that at all.' He chuckles.She raises the glass to her lips and her face twists at the iciness of the taste. Like frozen pepper.

'Not to your tastes, m'lady?' He fakes surprise; a webbed toe taps the edge of his untouched goblet. How this creature would ever handle the drink anyway is completely beyond her. 'Highest quality. Expect you have higher standards, though.'

She lowers the glass as he watches her through spiteful eyes. _'Pathetic little familiar,'_ she wants to curse, to reach out across the table and wring its neck. But she doesn't. She holds her tongue and her tightly clenched fists, mostly for the sake of her own dignity. The DuLac do not stoop to the level of such insults. To insult the courier is to lose the argument. Her son would do well to remember these things.

Her son.

Nothing will change this fact, as much as she wishes something could.

'He made his deal. As foolish as I might believe it is, who am I to question my son's mistakes?'

'Oh, now let's not go playing silly little games with each other, madam. Why, he knew the stakes as well as anyone. Let's not pretend he didn't know what he was letting himself in for.'

A small, insincere smile plays across her lips. She recalls, vaguely, that she hasn't genuinely smiled since Hugo was a child. She's always been good at façades. At feigning confidence. 'And what do you think of your new master, then, demon? Do you…' She pauses, pondering what might be the correct choice of word. '…have the correct respect for him?'

'Oh, now as if I have any kind of choice in _that_ matter, m'lady. That's my job ain't it? The Daemon is whatever the master wishes. It's all—'

'Part of the contract. Yes; I know.' _Was self-mutilation and withering body and mind part of the deal too? _While it serves and honors and gives all manner of grand gestures to her son's "power", she knows that deep within all it feels for him is contempt. It's just another soul to the demon's _true_ masters to whom her son has signed away his existence. 'If perhaps we could get down to business…'

'Oh, I know why you're here,' the creature says, not seeming that interested in addressing the matter. 'One has to wonder what your problem is, m'lady… It's nothing short of immortality, you see. Oh, and there's the office ornaments to take into consideration, of course…' Lady DuLac nods deliberately. She recalls the man with she saw in the corridor. Elaborately dressed and smiling a wicked smile. She supposes he's part of the deal. Not an ornament exactly… something more dangerous than that…willful. Bodyguard? Perhaps. One far more attractive than any of her own –who are also mostly male, and stupid, and unable to distinguish an order from a dinner call. She really should have them traded in for the more sensible mortals they have working in the household. 'Why, all this power, and yet you reject it? Your own son's greatest wish? You would deny him thus? Here I was thinking the DuLac's were a family of intelligence.'

Intelligence? Oh yes. More so than he realizes. She wouldn't call this beast stupid, but clearly he's lacking in the logic that has made her name a feared one throughout the dimension. You don't toy with the mind of Lady DuLac. Not with magic tricks and certainly not with cheap liquor and clever words.

'Precisely why I won't allow this.'

'And you have a way in which to _prevent_ it, now, do you?' He chuckles, curling himself into a more comfortable position on the table between them. A webbed toe catches his still full goblet and it tips. Crimson liquid spills across her dress. She scowls It's colder on her skin than it tasted on her tongue.

'Oh… oh dear. What a mess. Do accept my apologies.' He raises his… feet in gesture. 'Webbed, y'see. Don't really provide much motor control, if you get what I mean. I mean, if I was ever to say anything against my master's judgment, oh, and believe me, madam,' he adds, sounding oddly sincere, 'that I would _never do_… under usual circumstances… Then it's that he isn't the best judge of convenience when it comes to choosing a form for his demon. Honestly, how am I supposed to move with this thing? Drinking and eating is frightfully difficult.' His crimson eyes turn upwards, signally to the glass crystal clasped above his head.

'Perhaps you should have requested a more practical appearance, then?'

'Oh, well, y'see it's not my place to judge now, is it, m'lady. Why, would I ever go against the wishes of your dear master?'

Her hands do not clench around her skirts the way they should at the mention of "her master's" name. It's a time she tries to forget. Her son, he may be, but Hugo will never be her master. No. Her true "master" died not long after her son was born. He never ruled the house of DuLac, though she kept up the pretense of being the doting wife… well enough. Perhaps only those few serving men –and maids– had known the truth of what she was. And if they spoke… well, throwing traitors into the Maze of Illusion to wander until their deaths was never too good for anyone these days.

'Not in any obvious ways, no,' she says. 'But then… we have some less obvious ways of associating with our enemies, don't we, demon?'

'Why I'm not sure I grasp my lady's meaning.'

'You wouldn't. You don't know what it's like, after all. To serve two masters… or to serve one and… associate with another. It's not usually considered good conduct, you see. Have you ever heard the story of Zoar?'

'Of course. Why, who hasn't heard the tale of the One with Two Faces?'

'Ah. Now there is one I haven't heard in a long while. The _God_ with Two Faces.'

'So he called himself.'

'But you don't believe it?' She should really press on with her story but… she has to admit, this creature has something that intrigues her. Probably the same repulsion that makes someone continue watching as a swarm of Harpix rips a man to shreds.

'Ah, but what is belief, my lady? Why, to believe something would say you have choice in the matter. I don't believe. I know.'

'And what is it you know?'

'What is.' The demon smirks, deceptively happily upon its podium. 'And what isn't. Now, I thought it was you telling us this story? Go on.'

Lady DuLac hesitates –not a smart move. Demons are tricky when it comes to your hesitation.

…She's just reminding herself of the obvious, she knows.

'Hero to the Lightning Knights, wasn't he?' she goes on, covering up her nerves with a swallow of her wine –it tastes worse now, having been out in the sullen air– and goes on. 'He who saved Magery City just by calling on his armies and a Lightning Lance. And how easily they obeyed him.'

'Hm. And then, of course,' the staff interrupts (with its usual infuriating politeness.) 'He ran into… what did they call him? The puppet master? And all that changed.'

'Some people say the puppet master was merely a myth. A means with which to spare Zoar's good name.'

'Didn't work very well though, did it?' The staff chuckles. 'Even if he never truly existed, they're still basing the jesters upon him, aren't they? Very hard to continue to admire and respect the man who rips apart your cities and slaughters your children. No matter _what_ he did for you beforehand.'

'Yet the Knights continue to respect the name of their old founder. Their creator. Their bringer of justice…'

'…Who was in fact, nothing but a murderer.'

'Perhaps it must be admitted that he was more than that. But the people… they never quite regained their trust in the Knights, for a long time.'

'Zoar allowed power to corrupt him, it seems.' The staff nods. And so does Lady DuLac. She always did love a good story. Can't help but get embroiled. 'And the amulet with it. It was poisoned at the core with the same violence that destroyed its creator. And then it was taken from the Knights before they could fix it. To this day, I think, they deny that Zoar was ever what he was.'

'And now of course, it and all its power reside within the family of DuLac. Along with all the other powers you have placed on it over the years. The spells, the curses, the century old enchantments… all of that. It even moves you between worlds, these days, or so they say.' The creature claps its… feet together in what she figures is applause. 'Wonderful spokesmanship, m'lady. However, I fail to see—'

'It _did_ reside within the house,' Lady DuLac finishes.

The staff –it feels more like that than any demon or shapeshifter now– remains silent. Deadly so. Lady DuLac leans back in her chair. She has no regrets. And actually, the fear is starting to leave her now, too. She has done what she has done. There are no more choices to be made.

DuLac is strong. She shall not allow this man –son or otherwise– to bring it down with his talk of folly and.. .and world domination.

Ridiculous.

He always did have his head in another gateway.

'Isn't that interesting, my demon friend?' she asks.

Silence for another long moment before the staff tuts, and shakes his squat head.

'Oh indeed. It is of great interest. I'm sure that my master…' (which one? She wonders.) '…shall be very willing to hear it.' His face curls into a grin.

Of all the things she expected him to do in light of this… information of hers, it wasn't that. 'Well, as much as I hate to break up the party, m'lady, I have things to attend to. A new master to serve. You know the drill, don't you?'

She does indeed. She says nothing. He reaches the door and curls one webbed foot about the handle, fiddling with it as he attempts to get it open.

'First tell me, demon,' she says, at last. She gets the impression he stops only out of curiosity. Unlike most people, she is no concern to him. 'If you don't mind, I have one more question for you?' He scrambles with the door handle rather unsuccessfully and sighs.

'Well, if you would be so kind as to open the door for me, m'lady,' he says, primly, maneuvering off the table and quite literally hopping, in a rather undignified way, along the floor. 'And I shall quite happily answer your question.'

She scowls.

'Won't the door open itself, if that is what you will?'

'Oh, beside the point, m'lady. _Far_ beside the point. Manners are such a virtue in this day and age and I'm not exactly well hearsed in door opening.' He waves his feet.

She stands up, reluctantly, she crosses the floor to the doorway. Her legs… tremble.

How insulting.

'The search for power, you see. You know how it dooms us.'

'Well, do forgive me, my lady, for being so blunt,' the staff says calmly. 'But it is hardly the place of a DuLac, who has so much control over so much of this dimension, to say as such. It's rather, as you say, hypocritical?'

And perhaps this is true, she thinks. Admitting it makes her cringe in fury.

'Why, it seems the only thing you cannot control with money is your own flesh and blood, is it not? Perhaps you could've made a better deal with the underworld. You'd certainly appreciate it more than your son will in a decade's time or so.'

By which point he shall have no nerves with which to understand, she thinks.

Fury.

Her throat burns with the words she wants to shout.

And then it just burns.

And _she_ burns. She can feel it, from her heads to her feet, a tingling, hot pain, like spiders to her skin.

She would _not_ tremble, she would not shake. Hadn't she stood before the Lightning Knights? Stood in their circle courts? Seen their mistrust and scorn? Had she trembled then, with the weight of her enemies against her and the one thing they valued that _she_ owned, lying before them after so many years?

She grips the door handle tight with one hand. _'No.' _She had not been a coward or weakling. Even in betraying her house and her own son to the Lightning Knights, she had shown them her worth. Her right as a _Lady _of the House of DuLac-which-the-Knights-call-Fear.

Outrage. Sheer, utter—

The staff is hopping away from her. Turning its back. Never. Nobody turns their back on…

'It is a shame, madam. So rare that one meets such a like mind as yours. So rare that one has the pleasure of a good conversation in this place. It's all staged here, of course but you… why, there's something very, very real about you, isn't there?'

It feels as if as a Sword of Jacob has been driven through her stomach (and this is a feeling she's familiar with, though why they would allow some ten year old stable boy to get hold of a sword, much less use it on a lady, is beyond her).

'Or there _was_, anyhow.'

She looks at her hands which, eighteen years ago, held a small child with gleaming, beautiful green eyes. Her skin is withering and her bones are corroding and changing and twisting and.

She hits the ground, and then the pain ends. So fast that she doesn't quite feel it, bubbling in her throat. Fast enough so that she doesn't hear the staff's final words, as the door swings open on a silent command.

'You were right of course. As Zoar was corrupted, so are so many others. Others of course, are more content in lies of the past, but you see, madam, that's the way it goes. Always has done, always will do…'

The door opens. The door closes, and the demon is no longer there as the last lines echo in her crumbling body.

'…We're all the victims of power, here.'

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